Life in Goa

My phone starts vibrating loudly in the dark. Bob Marley's voice quickly grows in volume, telling me he shot the sheriff. I wake up just a little, reach over a snoring Mrs Grasshopper and switch my phone's alarm off.

It's dark outside, though it's starting to fade. Mrs G rolls over in her sleep as I fall out the bed from under the mosquito net. Keeping the light off, I grab my things and put them on as I hurriedly use the toilet, and then stumble into the living room, awaiting my morning’s partner.

I hear Shirley moving things around in her room, before appearing at her bedroom door.

"Ready mate?" I ask quietly

"Yeah, lemmi jus' brush my teeth"

She passes me to her bathroom as I look around, eyes half shut, for my trainers. I realize (in wonder) that I'm already wearing them. Teeth brushed, we slip out the door to our house, closing the door quietly.


It's still dark on the ground, but the black sky is quickly changing to navy blue. We walk briskly around the corner of our house, trainers crunching loudly on the gravel, and onto the empty, amber-lit street. It's cool, and I'm now fully awake as we speed up to a brisk jog.


One of the stray dogs is waiting for us at the bottom of the road. He's not "our" dog, the brown pointy-eared one who comes round every afternoon to play, and then sit chilling out with us on our front step. But this one likes running with us, and this morning he has a brought a friend.

We greet them as we pass, and they jump up to us.

"Hello darling! Oh look at you" Shirley sings as she pets them, momentarily pausing.

We carry on, chattering about this and that, turning left down to the beach with the dogs running with us. We pass the empty roadside fish-stalls and chicken vendor, the sellers eyeing us in the growing light with amused curiosity as they start preparing for the new day. Here we try to ignore the overpowering smell of rotten fish and dead chickens.

Difficult when you’re breathing heavy.

We stop at the bandstand, by the huge white church already filling with the dawns faithful and stretch off. The dogs seem to laugh at us, but as we leave they don't follow- this is the edge of their territory.

We're quiet now, passing just a few early morning workers still wrapped up in their shawls and scarf’s.

We pound up the steeply hump-backed bridge over the river, and onto the beach. My bare legs start pumping harder, trying to propel me at the same speed through the soft sand, and my breathing seems to immediately deepen. I look across at Shirley, who is completely unfazed. At a smidge over ten years my senior, she runs marathons for fun. She spurs me on by being her.

Finally we hit the hard sand by the waters edge.

"Right?" I ask, gasping a little

"Yeah why not"

More starry dogs find us, barking excitedly as they run alongside. Even the stray dogs are wonderful here, strong and happy on left over fish.
As we pound along to the sound of the waves, my breathing levels out. The night has faded to a dark royal blue above us, but on our right a pastel blue with a hint of pink, smudging into a white horizon, silhouetting the forests of palm trees. To our left is the moon, and its reflection seems to race alongside us on the thin coat of seawater over the sand we're running on.

As the sky continues to quickly lighten, we pass others out for the sunrise; grown up families, fishermen and a few tourists on their morning stroll.

"What's that?" Shirley asks

Up ahead, a snake coils up on the sand as we approach. I wish I had my camera, as it's not a small one. We get within a few feet and pause, watching it. It's head follows Shirley as she walks round to my right. I wish I had brought my camera, but who the hell takes a camera for a run?
"Erm, think we had better leave it, it's watching me move,” She says.
In full agreement, we set off, giving the snake a wide birth.

Up ahead, the fishing boat has its nets strung out on the beach. We run through the soft sand to skirt around it, smiling at the laughing fishermen before I check my watch and realize we have to go back. As we turn around, it's light enough to look seaward and pick out the details of the numerous small fishing boats that had previously just been bobbing lights.

I know the hard part of the run is yet to come, when it's the slight up-hill away from the beach, and Shirley's properly awake and starts to unconsciously pull ahead. I like that, it keeps me working hard.

We finish back at the house, now bathed in soft, cool morning light. Shirley puts the kettle on, I get the mugs out, sweet massala chai for me, coffee for her, black no sugar for her. We both are sweating, a lot, and the ceiling fan feels wonderful, whirring away above us on its highest setting.

A shower, cold, my running gear in a bucket of cold water (I'll wash it later), and I quickly dress into my polo shirt, cargo's and sandy-suede safari boots.
Mr's Grasshopper still snores quietly. Good.

I sit on my bike, parked outside the front door, and put on my sunglasses. (Safety first!)
"Today, like yesterday, is going to be a wonderful sunny day" I think to myself.
I put the bike in gear, and ride around the house onto the road. As I pass over the sand-filled driveway, I give a cheeky extra twist of the throttle, bit of weight on the pegs, and the back end skips out a bit as I turn to the road. I'm getting better at that.

I can't help but smile as I accelerate down the road to the office, where my breakfast, and lift to work await. The morning air is still cool, almost cold as it whips through my light clothing, the roads are empty, and I think I'll have chicken tikka for lunch with my wife. Maybe we'll eat out tonight as well.

Can life get much better than this?